


Competing with Fate

by CPFics



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CPFics/pseuds/CPFics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Aragorn leaves Imladris in 2951 (Third Age) so he doesn’t meet Arwen: instead he is at that time wandering near the Weather Hills. In Chetwood he meets 14-year-old Rossien, who has run away from her home in Bree to avoid being married off by her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rossien froze as she caught a glimpse of movement on the other side of the clearing. She leapt up into the nearest tree, scrambling as quietly as she could into its higher branches, her muscles remembering the movements from her not-so-distant childhood, and clung to the trunk, holding her breath.

 

A man stepped out of the trees into the clearing just a few metres away from her, dressed in the attire of a Ranger and bearing a bow and arrows and, it seemed, two swords. Without looking around, he dropped his weapons and pack on the ground and set about lighting a fire.

 

Crouched in the tree, Rossien tried to breathe as quietly as possible. She didn’t know a lot about Rangers, but she knew that they had the strongest senses of all the races of Men and that in Bree they were treated with something akin to suspicion and fear. Her stomach knotted as the Ranger settled down next to the fire. There was no obvious escape from her hiding place, and there was no knowing what the Ranger might do to her if she was discovered.

 

“The woods is no place for a young girl at this time of the evening.”

 

Rossien started and gasped as the Ranger spoke. His voice was soft, but weighted with authority. She dug her fingernails into the tree bark. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

 

The Ranger smiled and looked up, straight at her.

 

“Are you going to come down here, where there is warmth and food, or do you intend to stay up in that tree like a startled squirrel all night?”

 

There was no malice in his voice, and as soon as he had finished speaking he fished in his pack and retrieved a skinned rabbit, wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it and skewered it over the fire using some long straight sticks he had gathered with the firewood.

 

Rossien hesitated, her eyes glued to the rabbit. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and her mouth was watering. Plus her legs had started to cramp. Cautiously she let herself down from the branch and landed shakily on the ground. She crept forward until she was just within the warmth of the fire, facing the Ranger, and sat down, laying her own small pack next to her.

 

The Ranger himself looked amused.

 

“There is no need to be afraid,” he said, twisting the skewered rabbit so that the uncooked side was closest to the fire, “I know the men of Bree are wary of Rangers, but we are here to protect you.”

 

“Please don’t make me go home,” Rossien blurted out, startled that the Ranger had known so certainly where she was from. “Please. My father will force me to marry the butcher’s son.”

 

“What’s wrong with the butcher’s son?” asked the Ranger, barely trying to hide his smile.

 

“He’s frightening and hairy and he always smells of blood.” Rossien’s voice had become very small, as if she were worried someone would scold her for what she’d said.

 

The Ranger laughed.

 

“Don’t worry. I will not take you home if you do not want to go. My name is Aragorn. What is yours?”

 

“Rossien.”

 

The Ranger lifted the skewered rabbit from the fire and, using a knife he pulled out of his boot, cut a strip off and handed it over to Rossien with a smile.

 

“Here, eat this.”

 

The rabbit tasted better to Rossien than anything her father had ever cooked her at home, and her stomach was grumbling after almost a day without food. Between them, the rabbit was finished in minutes.

 

“Where is your destination, Rossien?” Aragorn asked as he licked the last of the rabbit from his fingers.

 

Rossien hesitated, doubt suddenly creeping into her mind, tying her stomach in a knot. She hadn’t given much thought to where she was going _to_ , focusing instead on what she was getting away _from_. Suddenly Middle-Earth seemed incomprehensively big and dangerous, and she realised that even though she had only got as far as Chetwood, where she had often played as a child, she was, to all intents and purposes, devastatingly lost.

 

“I… I don’t know,” she said. “Anywhere. Anywhere away from my father and the butcher’s son and arranged marriages.”

 

The look Aragorn gave her was kindly, but heavy with concern.

 

“The wild is not safe for you to wander in, unarmed and unable to provide for yourself, if you do not know your way, Rossien. The Rangers can keep the orcs and wild animals away from the towns, but we cannot look after every wayward child or foolish man that takes it upon themselves to take a stroll in the woods and hills.”

 

“Don’t make me go home,” was all Rossien could think to say, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. Aragorn’s face softened.

 

“Stay here with me tonight. Perhaps tomorrow you will know better what you want to do.”

Rossien agreed, and after they had kicked the fire out they set out their bedrolls at the edge of the trees.

 

That night Rossien cried, afraid of the great, open darkness, of not knowing what she would do, of being forced to go home. She cried because she missed the safety of Bree and her bed and her father. Aragorn reached out and held her hand until she fell asleep.

 

~ * ~

 

When Rossien awoke the next morning, Aragorn was nowhere to be seen, but there was a newly collected pile of firewood in the middle of the clearing, and his pack was propped up next to it. Rossien presumed he had gone out to hunt breakfast.

 

She ran her fingers through her orange-red hair. It was full of forest dirt and twigs, and her plaits had fallen out almost completely.

 

She remembered a small spring broke through the ground not far from the clearing, so she packed up her bedroll and propped her pack up against Aragorn’s. She set off at a steady jog, hoping to be back before Aragorn.

 

It took her only a few minutes to find the spring, bubbling out of the ground among a small cluster of rocks. She knelt down and pulled off her jacket and shirt, then undid the remains of her plaits by carding her fingers through them.  She dipped her head to the spring, cupping water into her hands and rubbing it into her head, face and upper body.

 

Suddenly there was a scuffling around her and the sounds of carelessly broken twigs and branches and the next thing she knew she was surrounded by orcs. One of them ran forwards and grabbed her, and then there were orc hands all over her, pulling at her hair, her clothes, her skin. She wriggled and kicked, trying to find a scream within her, but finding only sobs. Finally she mustered all her strength, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

 

Straightaway the orcs moved to cover her mouth, to smother her, to shut her up, but it was too late. An orc was struck in the chest by a long arrow, and it toppled backwards into those standing behind it. Three more arrows found their targets and then Aragorn himself burst out of the trees, swinging his sword and wiping out every orc that stood in his path. At the sight of the Ranger the orcs hesitated, weighing up the rewards of remaining against the dangers of staying. Eventually fear won out, and they dispersed into the woods.

 

“What were you thinking?” Aragorn demanded, as Rossien reached to pick up her shirt. She found it torn and dirtied, no longer fit for purpose. Aragorn stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her up to face him. “Did I not say it was too dangerous for you to be out here on your own? Did I not say you should not be wandering?”

 

“I-… I-“ Rossien could only stare up at him with wide eyes as tremors began to wrack her body. Aragorn’s face immediately softened as he knelt down next to her and gathered her into his arms. Rossien did not cry, she simply buried her face in Aragorn’s jacket and clung to him for fear dear life until the shaking had subsided.

 

Aragorn cursed himself internally for having left her alone, even for a minute, even keeping one ear open to what was happening in the clearing. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be momentarily distracted by potential prey at the exact moment she had decided to wander off.

 

Rossien’s jacket was made of tougher material than her shirt and had managed to survive the onslaught. After she had pulled it on, she and Aragorn walked back to the clearing, where the small deer Aragorn had killed had been dumped unceremoniously as he had responded to Rossien’s screams. Rossien sat down next to the remains of last night’s fire as Aragorn began to skin breakfast.

 

“Don’t make me go home,” she said quietly.

 

Aragorn looked up at her and smiled.

 

“Is home really that bad, that you can be attacked by a pack of orcs in the forest, and still not wish to return there?”

 

Rossien drew her knees up to her chin and nodded.

 

“Today we will head north to the regions of my people,” Aragorn said, “and we will find you new clothes, and a weapon. I will teach you how to survive in the wild. You may continue to travel with me, but you must not go wandering off again. Do you understand?”


	2. Chapter 2

In the lands of the North they had found clothes-makers and blacksmiths, they had bought Rossien a new set of clothes and a sword, and by the time Aragorn and Rossien began to head south-east once more, she was beginning to feel like a real Ranger. Aragorn had taught her how to light a fire, how to prepare animals she had caught to be eaten, how to protect herself during the night.

It was months before Rossien stopped crying as she lay in bed at night, before she stopped missing the relative safety of own life, protected from orcs and wild beasts. Some nights she would wake, screaming and shaking. Every night Aragorn would hold her hand until she fell into a proper, restful sleep.

Rossien had been with Aragorn just over three years when she first noticed that he was attractive. It was early in spring, the first morning of the year when the sun had really made an appearance. She had woken up just as he was returning from bathing in a small lake nearby, water dripping from his hair over his bare torso and causing dark stains to run down from the waistline of his trousers, his shirt slung over one shoulder. After that she had never failed to notice his muscles stretching and bunching under his skin, when he stretched, when he climbed, when he fought. Soon she found herself sitting slightly closer to him every evening.

Aragorn first noticed that Rossien was attractive a little over a year after that. He had woken in the very first light of dawn in midsummer, while Rossien was still asleep. He had looked over at her, and all at once marked the peacefulness of her expression as she slept, her autumn-coloured hair lying in strands over her face and her exposed neck and collarbones. Her undershirt had been pulled askew by her movements during the night, and the dawn had cast soft highlights on the curve of her breast, which had been half exposed.

Images came unbidden to his mind of his mouth trailing kisses over those highlights, nuzzling against her jaw, tangling his fingers in her hair. He licked his lips as his stomach began to coil with arousal.

Rossien shifted in her sleep, bringing Aragorn’s mind back to the present with a snap. He rubbed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to rid himself of the arousal, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Rossien’s skin against his. His trousers were beginning to feel slightly restrictive. He cursed under his breath.

“What?” Rossien’s voice was thick with sleep. She had propped herself up on her elbows and was rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, thanking his lucky stars that she didn’t speak Sindarin, and quickly sitting upright to hide the tenting of his blanket, “just thinking aloud. I am going to wash and find us some breakfast. I shan’t be long.”

He stood up and headed towards the nearest river, making sure to angle himself slightly away from her at all times.

Rossien watched him go with a smirk. She had been awake longer than he had realised. She rolled onto her back and grinned. For the last year she had been worried that her feelings had been foolish: admiration for, or even infatuation with, an older man that she had mistaken for a crush. She had certainly never expected those feelings to be reciprocated. Now, suddenly, they didn’t seem so foolish after all.

Aragorn returned with two dead rabbits and a pouch-full of berries. Despite the early hour, the day was already one of the warmest of the year, and he hadn’t bothered to replace his shirt after bathing. Rossien likewise was only wearing her undershirt on her top half and had rolled up her trousers.

Aragorn sat down next to the remains of the previous night’s fire, a little way away from Rossien, and set about skinning one of the rabbits for breakfast. Rossien shifted closer to him, under the guise of picking up the other rabbit to do the same. They sat in silence while the rabbits were prepared, the fire restarted and the breakfast cooked. After they had eaten, Aragorn spoke only to offer her some water to wash the blood and berry juice from her hands.

After they had sat in silence for a few more moments, Rossien decided she might as well do something.

“I’m going to pack up my bedroll,” she said as she slipped her knife back into her boot. Aragorn grunted in response, his expression thoughtful.

As she went to stand, Rossien put her hand on Aragorn’s knee to pull herself up, making sure her fingers trailed over his thigh as she rose. She had only taken a few steps when Aragorn’s hand closed around hers and pulled her back. At some point he had risen to his feet, and she stumbled against his chest as the arm that had gripped her hand slid around her waist. She swallowed, her stomach tightening with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

Aragorn raised his free hand and carded his fingers through her hair, his eyes fixed on hers. Slowly he lowered his lips to hers, and she rose to meet him, her fingers digging into her chest. He tasted of berries and smoke and sweat, and Rossien inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his scent.

His breathing caught as her teeth brushed his lower lip, and he began to kiss her with more urgency, pulling her tighter to him and sweeping his tongue across her teeth. Both his hands skimmed down her sides and came to rest on her buttocks. He gripped them tightly and pulled her hips close against his, causing her to break the kiss with a gasp. She rubbed her cheek against his jaw as he buried his nose in her hair, and captured his earlobe between her teeth.

With a low growl he lifted her from the ground and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her again and again and she wrapped her hands around the taut muscles in his shoulders. He broke this kiss to carry her over to where their beds were still laid out on the ground, and she tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. He laid her down gently on his blanket, his hands moving from her backside to slide up under her undershirt. She reached up and pulled his mouth back down to hers, teasing his lips with her teeth.

They broke apart just long enough for Aragorn to pull Rossien’s undershirt over her head, and then his hands went straight to the fastenings of her trousers, his stomach muscles bulging as they took his weight, kissing along her jaw and the tendons in her neck. Once her trousers were undone, he moved on to his own while she pulled her legs free. A few seconds later, they were both fully naked, their clothes strewn around them.

Rossien wrapped her legs around Aragorn’s and pulled him down towards her, trying to make every part of her body touch his. One of his hands slid down between them, and he began to massage her clit with his fingers. Her hands tangled in his hair and gripped there as she gasped, pressing his forehead into her shoulder.

He moved his hand further down and slipped one finger inside her. She moaned at the unusual feeling as he worked to loosen her muscles. He lowered his head slightly to tongue and nip at her breasts, humming with pleasure when her hands tightened in his hair. She began to relax, and Aragorn added another finger, still rubbing her clit with his thumb.

Rossien could feel her climax building up inside her as Aragorn added a third finger and moved his other hand to join his mouth at her breasts. Her back arched and she gasped his name. Without warning, he sank his teeth into her collarbone and sucked, hard. She cried out as her orgasm hit her, clinging to his hair as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality, her legs tightening around his.

Once she had calmed, she became aware of Aragorn still leaning over her. His face was buried in her hair and she could feel his warm breath against her ear and his still-hard cock pressed against her hip. She rolled him over and straddled his thighs, leaning forwards to press kisses onto the muscles of his chest. Aragorn moved his hand towards his cock, but Rossien got there first and he laid his hand over hers. He guided her hand up and down his length, and she occasionally swiped her thumb over the head, spreading pre-cum beneath her hand like lube. 

Aragorn pushed himself up onto his elbow to bring his mouth to Rossien’s. She caught his lower lip between her teeth and pulled, his hips bucked against her stomach and he came with a cry, throwing his head back. Rossien laid her head on his stomach, filling her lungs with the smells of sweat and sex and earth. Aragorn lay back on the ground and put his arm around her, one hand twisting itself into her hair.

She did not know how long they stayed there, their limbs tangled together, but eventually they reluctantly drew apart and walked back to the river where Aragorn had washed that morning. They jumped in, the water coming up to their chests, and washed the remains of the morning from their skin.

“We will turn our course further south today,” Aragorn said as he pulled himself onto the bank and began to dry himself with his sheet, “I wish to return to Imladris for a while, it is only about two days’ walk.”

“Imladris?” asked Rossien, vaguely remembering the name from one of the books she had browsed through as a child, “The House of Elrond? You’ve been there before?”

The places in those books had seemed beyond the reaches of the world to Rossien just a few years ago: to discover that she was only two days from Rivendell was almost beyond comprehension.

Aragorn turned to look at her as she joined him on the bank.

“Yes,” he said, “I was raised there, after the death of my father. It is the closest thing I have to a home.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rossien watched as Aragorn picked his way over a fallen tree trunk and held an arm out to help her over. Oddly, she felt lonely. It made her ache when he pulled his hand away as soon as her feet hit the ground, although she tried to make the touch last just a second longer. Until that morning, it had been more than four years since someone had held her in their arms. She hadn’t missed it. Or at least, she hadn’t noticed that she’d missed it. But now she found that the air around her felt rough on her skin. She felt exposed and alone.

“Rossien?” Aragorn’s voice brought her back to the present, and she realised that while he had walked twenty metres or more, she still hadn’t moved more than a step from the fallen tree. He walked back to her, putting his hand to the side of his face as he asked if she was all right. Unconsciously, she leant into his hand and closed her eyes.

Aragorn’s arms drew around her as he pulled her to him. She buried her face in his chest and her hands in his jacket. 

“Rossien,” he whispered into her hair, “I am so sorry. I forget that you are so young. When you used to cry at night I would hold your hand, but I should have been holding you. You needed more support than I gave you.”

Rossien shook her head.

“I didn’t miss it until now.”

Aragorn held her closer, running his hands through her hair.

“There is an area not far ahead that is a suitable place for us to spend the night. It is not too early to end our journey for today. We may still reach Imladris by nightfall tomorrow.”

Rossien nodded and withdrew from Aragorn’s arms, but as they walked he kept one arm slung around her shoulder, and she stayed as close to his side as she could.

They laid down their packs on the top of a hillock enclosed by great while rocks, and unrolled their bedrolls next to each other so that the edges met. It was too early yet to eat, so they just lay there together for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging lazy kisses from time to time.

As the sun began to sink below the rocks and the sky turned orange, Aragorn pulled himself out of Rossien’s arms and sat up.

“Come,” he said, “we should hunt.”

They crept down from the hillock, sticking close to the rocks scattered across the plains. A few small deer had come out of the forest to graze in the twilight. Aragorn pulled his bow from his shoulder. Wordlessly, he held it out to Rossien and corrected her grip, wrapping his left hand over hers. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and fitted it on to the string, fitting his right hand around Rossien’s as he showed her how to draw back the string.

“Hold it steady,” he whispered in her ear as he released his hold. The bow twitched as Rossien took up the weight of the drawn bow, then held still. “Aim for the heart. Exhale. Shoot.”

Rossien did as she was instructed. Her aim was slightly off: the arrow caught the deer in the hindquarters and it took off, tripping over the boulders that lay in its path. On the edge of the forest it stopped, exhausted.

“Try again,” Aragorn whispered, fitting another arrow. This time he let go only with his right hand after drawing back the string, his left still holding the bow steady, and the arrow found its mark. The deer jumped slightly to the side, then tumbled to the ground.

“Well done,” He smiled and kissed her on the head as he slung his bow back over his shoulder. He pulled his arrows out of the carcass, wiped them on his sleeve and put them back in his quiver. They carried the deer back to camp between them.

Rossien built the fire while Aragorn skinned the deer. They leaned into each other as they ate, and when they had finished Rossien lay her head in Aragorn’s lap as he traced patterns on her stomach with his fingers and told her stories he had learned from the elves. Eventually she fell asleep, and Aragorn lifted her quietly into bed and lay down beside her, his head resting against her shoulder and his hand clasping hers. 

~ * ~

It was barely dawn when Aragorn woke Rossien the next morning.

“We must leave early if we want to reach Imladris tonight. Breakfast is waiting for you by the fire.” Breakfast was a sort of soup made from the previous night’s leftovers and some roots Aragorn had dug up nearby. It was surprisingly delicious.

Aragorn kept up a punishing pace all day, pulling Rossien by the hand over hills and plains. By the time the evening drew in, she was flagging. She had never walked so far and so fast before. She tripped over her own feet and couldn’t even muster the energy to try to break her fall.

Aragorn was at her side in a moment, gathering her into his arms and brushing away the dirt. Her head dropped onto his shoulder.

“I can’t go on any further,” she mumbled into his collarbone.

“Yes, you can,” he said, ducking under her arm and wrapping one of his own around her waist, “yes, you can. Lean on me. Look: you can see the lights of Imladris rising above the edge of the valley. In just a few minutes we will be at the top of the climb down. Lean on me.”

Slower, now, Aragorn walked on towards Imladris, Rossien stumbling along at his side. Once they began the descent it was easier: she let gravity carry her downwards while Aragorn ensured she did not fall. At last, as midnight approached, they reached the courtyard of Elrond’s house. 

“Aragorn!” A dark-haired elf came hurrying down the stairs to greet them, his arms out-stretched.

“Elrond.” Aragorn loosened his grip on Rossien as he stepped forward to meet the elf. They spoke for a while in Elvish. Rossien heard her name mentioned a few times. Then Elrond spoke in English.

“You must be weary and hungry after your walk. This evening’s dinner has not quite finished yet; you may catch the end of it.”

At a shout from Elrond, two more elves appeared to relieve them of their packs, and then Aragorn all but carried Rossien to the dining hall. Although clearly emptier than it had been, there was still a warm rumble of chatter and laughter. Rossien’s stomach rumbled.

They sat themselves down on a bench and began to tuck into the remains of the spread in front of them. Soon Rossien’s stomach was full and her eyelids were drooping once more. She laid her head against Aragorn’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

Aragorn stiffened, and Rossien glanced sleepily up at him. She followed his gaze to the opposite side of the room where a tall, dark-haired female elf was chatting to a group of elves seated in front of her. Rossien turned her eyes back to Aragorn and felt her insides turn to liquid. She knew the look on his face, or something of it. It was the look he gave her sometimes, but far stronger. 

She deliberately sighed sleepily and shifted slightly closer to Aragorn. His arm automatically wrapped around her, but the gesture felt hollow when she could feel his face still directed at the elf across the room.

A second later she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Elrond’s face.

“Come with me,” he said, “I will show you to your room.”

Rossien stumbled along behind Elrond through twisting wooden corridors and balconies, until he stopped in front of her and gestured through a wide open door.

“Aragorn’s room is just next door,” Elrond said as she walked into the room, “the two share a balcony. Sleep well.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rossien rushed forward and collapsed onto the bed. She fell asleep at once.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while. As soon as I uploaded my stuff, suddenly I didn't seem to be able to write any more. But anyway, here is chapter 4. Happy new year!

When Rossien woke, the first rays of sunrise were just beginning to peek between the shutters. The first thing she noticed was that she had been stripped to her underwear and laid under the bed covers. She hoped it had been Aragorn on his way to bed.

With the thought of Aragorn came the memory from last night, the graceful elf-maiden who seemed to glow under Aragorn’s gaze. Jealousy cooled her stomach and stung her eyes. She remembered the times Aragorn had held her over the last few days, and she had begun to feel as though no one else existed in the world except the two of them. She found herself craving the cool, hard earth over the soft bed, and wishing they had never come to Imladris.

Quietly she slipped out of bed and crept around the balcony to Aragorn’s room. He was sprawled on his back across the bed, the bed covers concealing him from his navel to his ankles and his hands cushioning his head. She tiptoed over to him, and eased herself onto the bed so that she was straddling him.

Immediately his hand went to his hip, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. As soon as he realised it was her, though, he relaxed.

“You did not sleep long for one so tired,” he muttered sleepily, stroking her hair back from her face. She leant forward to rest her head on his shoulder.

“It seems I’ve grown used to the hard ground. The soft mattresses of Imladris don’t suit me.”

Aragorn smiled at that, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind distant. He had the same look on his face that he had worn while looking at the elf-maiden. Her chest tightened. She leaned upwards to claim his mouth and bring his mind back to her. She felt his body tense momentarily and then relax as he drew his arms around her and pulled her body close to his.

He rolled them over so that he was lying on top, and slid his fingers into her pants. The sheet fell away from him as he rolled to reveal that he was already naked, his cock hard. He slid two fingers inside her.

She arched her body towards him and wrapped her legs tightly around his, trying to pull him as close to her as was physically possible. She pressed her lips against his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, catching folds of skin between her teeth. She reached up and lost her fingers in his hair.

Aragorn removed his fingers and pulled Rossien’s underpants right off. He positioned himself back between her legs and guided his cock into her. She arched her back, her fingers gripping on to his shoulders. Slowly, he thrust right in, bringing his mouth down onto Rossien’s, running his tongue over her teeth, her lips and the roof of her mouth. He ran his hands up and down her body, pausing to squeeze her breasts and making her gasp and writhe underneath him. He began to thrust harder and faster, his mouth still pressed against hers, and her legs gripping his hips, and he moved his hand back down to rub her clit.

They came at the same time, crying out into each other’s skin. They lay there for a while, kissing lazily, while Aragorn stroked Rossien’s hair. Finally Rossien spoke.

“I love you, Aragorn,” she said. Aragorn raised himself onto his elbows and looked down at her. “Do you love me?”

Aragorn sighed, and dropped his head onto her shoulder.

“Aragorn?”

Wordlessly, he pulled away from her, got up and pulled on his trousers and a shirt. Then he left, letting the door fall closed behind him.

Rossien pulled his sheet around her and buried her face in it, breathing in his scent. She felt warm tears running down her cheeks as she thought of Aragorn leaving her, of being alone in the world once more while he built a life with the beautiful elf-maiden here in Imladris.

Eventually she stumbled back to her room and had a quick shower before pulling on some clothes, and then she went in search of Aragorn.

She found him sitting on some steps over-looking the valley, resting his chin on his hands and string off into the distance. She sat down next to him in silence. Finally he reached over and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“I do love you, Rossien, but not in the way I think you meant. I am not in love with you. You are one of the most important people in the world to me, and I love you with all my heart, but I am not in love with you.”

Rossien felt a lump rise in her throat, but she forced it down.

“The elf-maiden?”

He looked at her in surprise.

“Arwen? Am I that easy to read?” He nodded. “She is Elrond’s daughter, the most beautiful lady I have ever laid eyes on. Yes, I think I may be in love with her.”

The tears escaped before she could stop them. Aragorn gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, whispering,

“I am so sorry, Rossien. I am sorry. I did not mean to be cruel; I had no idea how you felt. I am so sorry.”

~*~

Rossien decided she would leave that day. Elrond gave her clothes and food and a horse, and just before noon she set off, aiming to return to the towns of the Rangers, who had been good to her the last time she had been.

The horse, Lendis, was a huge piebald cob mare, who carried Rossien with all her supplies so easily it was as if there was nothing on her back at all. Although she was neither the fastest nor the best over long distances, she picked her way over the rocky terrain as though it were perfectly flat.

That night she rested on the same hillock that she and Aragorn had shared two nights before. The ground felt cold, hard and unfeeling beneath her, and she realized that she was truly alone for the first time in her life. Lendis’ deep, slow breathing was the only sound; the only light came from the moon and stars. There was no warmth. She drew her blanket closer around her and gradually fell asleep with her mind filled with the smell of earth.

It took Rossien four days to reach the towns of the North. She arrived late in the evening, feeling weak, for she had had no desire to hunt during her journey, and Elrond’s food had only been meant to last her that first evening. She found herself a room in an inn, and spent the evening in the bar, eating a proper meal and drinking ale, that she promised to pay back with work, leaving Lendis in the stables as insurance. The first person that flirted with her she took to her bed.

That person was Araya: a tall, athletic young woman with long, dark hair and equally dark skin. That night she kissed every inch of Rossien’s skin, and in the morning she brought food and water while Rossien vomited her hangover into a bucket. Then she invited Rossien to live with her. The invitation took Rossien aback.

“Live with you?” she repeated as she washed her face, “but I’ve only just arrived. We’ve only just met!”

“And you have nowhere to live,” Araya replied, handing Rossien a shirt, “and I have a house which used to be filled with my brothers and sisters, but one by one they have gone their own ways and I am left with a house that is too big for me.”

“I cannot pay you,”

“I do not ask for payment, only someone to keep me company. Come, get dressed. We will arrange with the innkeeper when you are to do your work, and then you can move in.”

So Rossien moved in with Araya. 

Araya’s house was not as big as she had made it sound, but it was easily spacious enough for two people. She gave Rossien a room with a large double bed and a window that looked out over the town to the hills beyond.

It turned out that Araya ran a business from her house: she was a tattoo artist. Often the Rangers and their families would come to have symbols and patterns inked into their skin. In some families it was a tradition, in others, a rebellion.

Rossien spent that day mucking out the stables at the inn, cleaning plates, and lugging barrels from the brewery a few streets away to the inn’s cellar. All day she could hear the whispers behind her back: here was the girl who had come with Aragorn – the heir of Elendil – almost five years ago, a woman now, shoveling shit and doing manual labour in exchange for food and shelter. She could hear the questions everywhere she went: how had she fallen so far? And why? Why did she return here now, dressed in Elvish clothes, riding a horse with Elvish tack, but with not a penny nor a bite to eat to her name?

By the time she returned to Araya’s house that evening – she wasn’t ready to call it home – she not only felt exhausted, but also ashamed and humiliated. She had dared to think herself good enough for the heir of Gondor, she had dared to believe that maybe he could love her. She had dared to think that a foolish girl from Bree, running terrified from marriage, could compete with the beautiful elf-maidens to the east, or even the women of Rohan and Gondor to the south. Aragorn was the future king, fated to rule the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor together. He could choose any women he wished to be his king, and she had expected him to choose her.

As she entered the house, she passed one of Araya’s clients on his way out. She stepped aside to let him pass and saw that his left arm was covered in numerous equally sized, equally spaced circles.

“He gets a new one for every orc he’s killed,” Araya told her as she closed the door. “You look as though you’ve had a hard day. At least tomorrow you will only have to work a few more hours, and then your debt will be paid and you can keep your horse in our own stables.”

Araya cooked dinner while Rossien cleaned the grime of the day’s work from her skin. After they had eaten, Rossien turned to Araya:

“Will you tattoo me?”

Araya looked surprised for a moment.

“If you wish. What do you want?”

“Anything. Whatever you think would be good.”

Araya nodded and cleared the plates from the table.

“Lie down here on your front, with your shirt off. I’ll get my ink.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rossien makes a life for herself in the North, but that is interrupted when Halbarad comes looking for a company of Rangers to lead into battle against Sauron.

The next day, Rossien once again spent the morning carrying out odd jobs and manual labour for the innkeeper. 

The tattoo Araya had given her was a leafless tree, growing from the base of her spine and spreading its skeletal branches over her shoulder blades. It had stung a little at first, but soon Rossien had begun to find the gentle pricking in her back comforting, and had almost fallen into a doze in the hours in which Araya had slaved over her art.

When Rossien had finished her work for the innkeeper, she took the opportunity to have a proper look around the town. The town was called Aldadôr, and it was built a few miles northwest of Lake Nenuial, on the far side of the Hills of Evendim. The streets were neither paved nor cobbled, but the ground here was rocky, so they did not become impossible in the wet weather. Nor were they straight, twisting seemingly arbitrarily among the houses and shops.

The houses were simple: wooden, rather than brick or stone, with thatched roofs. The larger houses had two or more storeys, the lowest taken up by stables. Smaller houses comprised of only a single storey, with one barn shared among four or five houses. The majority of the houses were home to families, usually two generations, but sometimes less, sometimes more. Others belonged to couples, or to groups of friends, or were divided into rooms and rented to those who could not afford their own entire house.

Araya’s house was just big enough to have a few stables on its ground floor. Araya had cleaned out and renovated one of these to use as her tattoo studio. There were rugs on the floor, and a large wooden table in the centre. In one corner was a ceiling-height set of drawers and cupboards, where she kept all her inks and equipment.

On the first floor were the kitchen and living area. The kitchen was bare, but the cupboards filled with vegetables, and many, many spices. There were a few, large, neatly organised jars on the worktops, filled with grains and cereals. Araya cooked kinds of food that Rossien had never seen, smelled or tasted before. Sometimes, a small animal carcass hung from one of the rafters, but Araya rarely used meat in her cooking. The huge wooden table in the centre of the room looked like it could be the oldest thing in the town, and it was surrounded by mismatched chairs.

The living room was cozy. There was a large hearth on one side, with a huge thickly woven rug in front of it. When Rossien looked carefully, she could make out figures and images in the patterns on the rugs. Araya had told her that it showed an ancient story from the West.

On the second floor were two large bedrooms: Araya’s and Rossien’s. Above them, in the pitched roof, were three more, smaller bedrooms, previously inhabited by Araya’s younger siblings.

Rossien lived in Araya’s house for many years. They were not a couple, though Rossien never married. Araya, however, met a traveller from the South a decade or so after Rossien arrived. The traveller stopped travelling.

Meanwhile, Rossien made many friends, and took many lovers of various genders. Often people from the town would come to her when they were in need of comfort, but Rossien never took anyone to her bed whom she did not care for deeply.

Soon after her arrival, she had taken an apprenticeship with the cartwright, Veras. Over the years she learned to know and love the wood after it had been chopped down as much as she knew and loved it when it still stood in the forest near Bree. Soon she had set up her own side business as a woodcarver, carving figures from the tales and legends that made their way through Aldadôr on the tongues of merchants and wanderers. 

For years, Araya treated Rossien’s body as a canvas, until almost ever inch of her skin was covered with patterns, symbols and images in black ink. At first, the ink stood out starkly against her skin, which was much paler than that of anyone else in the town. Over the years her skin had darkened, though, from exposure to the sun and wind.

Rossien never felt the need to leave Aldadôr, until more than sixty years had passed since her arrival, when a message came from the East: Aragorn was to lead a war against the Dark Lord Sauron of Mordor, and the Ranger Halbarad was looking for company of Rangers to lead to his aid. There would be a competition held in each of the six major towns of the North, including Aldadôr, to find the five best candidates from each. Halbarad would be arriving in three weeks.

Rossien knew archery and sword fighting from her time with Aragorn, and she had trained herself in them just often enough to remember them. She often sparred hand-to-hand with her friends, various styles of martial arts from across all of Middle-Earth, and she knew how to combine them and switch from one to another to create the most effective attacks and defenses. And, of course, she could ride. So she decided to enter her name for the competition.

~*~

Halbarad walked along the line of candidates standing along the edge of the field measured out and cordoned off for the competition, looking each of them over. The sun was just beginning to cast its first orange glow across the clouds. When he reached Rossien, he stopped.

“I was under the impression I knew the face, if not the name, of every Ranger, yet you are unfamiliar to me.”

Rossien nodded.

“I am not a Ranger, sir, I was born and raised in Bree. But many years ago, when I was still a girl, Aragorn saved my life more than once, and I travelled with him, and he cared for me, for many years. I would like the chance to compete so that I might return the favour in Middle-Earth’s hour of need.”

“You are Rossien?”

Rossien nodded, surprised.

“Aragorn told me about you once, almost fifty years ago. Your age will be a disadvantage to you, but I will allow you the chance to prove yourself, as you are Aragorn’s friend.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When Halbarad reached the end of the line, he turned.

“There will be five parts to this competition. The first will be the mounted sword fight, then the sword fight on foot. Both of these will be last-man-standing events. Next will be archery, judged, as usual, on points. After that, unarmed combat, and finally, a test of your endurance, speed and strength. A race: ten miles on horseback and five on foot, three of which will be in the Hills of Evendim, and will include natural obstacles for you to overcome. There will be two events on the first day, two on the second, and the last event will be held on the third day. Please go now, and ready your horses for the mounted sword fight. We meet again in one hour!”

The Rangers hurried back to their stables. Rossien ran back to Araya’s house, and found Araya waiting for her outside, leaning on the corner of the building. She stood up as Rossien approached.

“Veras and I clubbed together to get you a little something,” she said, holding a large wooden box out to her. Rossien recognised Veras’ style in the carvings. She opened it and gasped. Inside lay a hand-and-a-half sword in a light metal scabbard, and a longbow, with a bone quiver full of arrows. The bow also had evidence of Veras’ hand in its ornament, while the quiver bore the signature symbols of Arila, his wife, and the sword bore the markings of Breold, a highly regarded blacksmith from a neighbouring town.

“Eru, Araya, thank you so much.” Rossien lifted the sword out of the box, drew it and swung it, first with just one hand, then with both. It was well balanced, and a similar weight to her usual sword, so that she would not need much time to adjust to it. She slid it back into its scabbard, and placed it back in the box on the floor.

“You’re welcome, really. I’ll leave you to get ready. Good luck.”

As she walked away, Rossien’s stomach coiled with nerves. Halbarad was right: she was not of Númenórean descent: she aged more quickly, and the Rangers would have the advantage of youth over her. Nonetheless, he had given her the chance to try, and she wasn’t about to turn him down. Taking a deep breath, she let herself into the stables and began preparing her horse – and herself – for battle.


End file.
